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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26536024">Barefoot</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/terma_archivist/pseuds/terma_archivist'>terma_archivist</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The X-Files</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Angst, Episode: s04e08 Tunguska, Episode: s04e09 Terma, Fluff, Humor, M/M</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2000-01-01</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2000-01-01</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 06:20:56</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>3,790</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26536024</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/terma_archivist/pseuds/terma_archivist</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Acidic ooze, a slightly less hostile than usual Mulder and a gloriously blue-jeaned Krycek, shoes lost forever.. how could it not result in romance!?</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Alex Krycek/Fox Mulder</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>TER/MA</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Barefoot</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Note from alicettlg, the archivist: this story was originally archived at <a href="https://fanlore.org/wiki/TER/MA">TER/MA</a> and was moved to the AO3 as part of the Open Doors project in 2019. I tried to reach out to all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are the creator and would like to claim this work, please contact me using the e-mail address on <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/collections/terma/profile">the TER/MA collection profile</a>.<br/>Notes: Takes place soon after Terma, but not too soon. Class: Fluffish, I guess. A bit of humor, a bit of angst. What bit of plot there is doesn't have a complete explanation, but then, a lengthy discourse on the Consortium and how evil it is was not in my job description when I wrote this.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p><br/>
<b>Barefoot<br/>by Meri Lomelindi</b>
</p>
<p> 
<br/>"What IS this stuff?"  Perched atop the narrow ledge of a cement shelf that clung halfway up the wall, legs dangling, Mulder surveyed his predicament with mild disbelief and tried to categorize recent events.  The attempt to inject hostility into his voice had failed; he just sounded whiny, disgruntled.  Even the stubble on his chin irritated him; before leaving the hotel today he'd made the decision that there wasn't enough time to shave, which he now viewed with regret as he scratched at the itchiness of his jaw.  It was just like him to forget his razor while packing for a plane trip and then, once they were actually in Virginia, not try to shave until he was settled in the hotel room at four in the morning.  At least he could take comfort in his companion's similar lack of grooming. 
</p>
<p>	"What makes you think I would know?"  Krycek, who was scrunched up on his left due to lack of shelf space, rolled his eyes at Mulder with an equal amount of exasperation and then turned his head to stare longingly at the door.  He was thinner than usual, Mulder noted in a detached sort of way as the other man's hipbone dug into his side uncomfortably.  The idea interested him and he swiveled around to study his companion, wondering what had befallen him.  He thought the Russian cheekbones stood out a bit more prominently, and the faded blue jeans that were normally so snugly provocative now hung somewhat loosely, with a belt to keep them in place.  Krycek's casual attire still caused Mulder to feel absurdly overdressed whenever he compared the ripped denim with his own dress pants and starched white shirt, though at least he'd gotten rid of the suit-jacket.  He glanced over to where it lay, crumpled on the other side of the warehouse as the thick ooze that carpeted the floor slowly ate through the fabric. 
</p>
<p>	He turned back to Krycek, realizing that it had been several minutes since the other man had spoken and his reply hadn't been forthcoming.  Odd, he thought wonderingly, that he wasn't particularly distressed.  All he felt was the same nagging annoyance; he must've gotten used to having Krycek around during the past few days.  "It was your idea, after all," he said, his voice appropriately grating, "your research.  One would think that you'd check to ensure your safety when walking into a potentially dangerous situation."  But he was conscious of the slight flush that crept into his cheeks; it really had been his fault.  He hadn't done anything this half-witted in years. 
</p>
<p>	Another roll of the eyes was bestowed upon him as Krycek responded, "If you hadn't insisted on coming with me, Mulder, none of this would've happened.  <i>I</i> could have gotten in and out of here with a minimum of fuss.  Why you felt the need to poke around and pry into everything when we knew exactly where the specific evidence that we needed was is beyond—" 
</p>
<p>	Mulder put a hand up and waved it in mock surrender.  "Okay, I concede my mistake." 
</p>
<p>	"And what was your mistake?"  There was a mocking gleam in Krycek's eye.  So the other man was going to turn this into a confessional—fine, Mulder could deal with that. 	 	"At times, my desire to know the truth gets the better of my common sense.  In this case, there was no way I could have foreseen the possibility that that assassin—" he gestured toward the gruesome remains of a body that was once human, now being so rapidly devoured that only the bones were left, "would suddenly appear, scuffle with you, and knock the barrel over just as I'd finished opening it.  There were also no markers to indicate that the substance contained in the barrels was.. highly caustic."  A perfectly sound explanation, but there was something lacking—he felt the need to tack Krycek's name onto the end of his sentences, as the man had done with him so breezily.  He couldn't, though; he'd refrained from using Krycek's last name for the past two days, feeling that it was somehow wrong.  In the past he'd spoken it with rage, bitterness, when he was interrogating or, as was equally likely, throwing punches.  
</p>
<p>	This was different, however—Krycek was helping him, and they'd formed a truce, however uneasy.  When Krycek had come to him with a plan to expose the Consortium, he'd been naturally skeptical, but the files and the promising snippets of evidence had convinced him to go along with the scheme, at least until the other man revealed his true colors.  Then it had ended up being Mulder who caused it to backfire, thanks to his damned curiosity.  It all came down to the fact that he didn't feel the same enmity toward Krycek that he once had, despite—and he reminded himself of this constantly—compelling evidence that the double or perhaps even triple agent had assassinated his own father and assisted in the murder of Scully's sister.  He felt too ambivalent to generate the anger that flared up in him at the thought of the name Krycek, but neither could he say Alex.  Much too intimate—the last time he'd even thought of Krycek on a first-name basis had been just before his betrayal.  And he definitely did not want to bring his thoughts back to that again. 
</p>
<p>	"Alright, but it's still your mess."  Krycek's nose wrinkled up when he looked down at the coating of slime on the floor.  "You made me sacrifice my leather jacket, Mulder.  My <i>favorite</i> leather jacket.  I'm not gonna forget that anytime soon, so you'd better figure out a way to get out of this place before I decide to take my revenge.  And don't you dare mention waiting for Scully to find us— contrary to what you may think, I do NOT have a death wish, especially when it involves irate survivors of a crime that I did not commit."  Mulder realized that he was staring not into the slime, but at the exact spot where his jacket had been thrown after he'd used it to wipe up a bit of slime that had spattered on the ledge to avoid any danger of it touching them.  The black leather had already been enveloped and consumed. 
</p>
<p>	"Sorry about that," Mulder hedged, all the while looking for a way to shift the blame, "but I lost mine too, as well as anything that may have protected my feet.  YOU still have your socks."  Wordlessly, but with a smug grin, Krycek shucked the offending black socks and tossed them across the wide expanse of the warehouse.  As he moved to throw them, he bumped Mulder with his elbow.  "Once you make up for killing my father, we'll be almost even."  This time he couldn't resist lashing out.  If only necessity didn't dictate that Krycek sit so incredibly close to him, so near that he was almost breathing down Mulder's neck.  Usually it made Mulder want to kick Krycek, but now he felt a twinge of something else.  Something that he didn't want to think about either, so he shoved it back into the darkest recesses of his mind. 
</p>
<p>	A peek at Krycek to gauge his reaction and Mulder found that the other man had applied his mask again, features chiseled into starkness, as if nothing in the world had ever bothered him.  He bent to rub at his now bare feet, craning his head down like an animal trying to avoid detection.  If you couldn't see them, they couldn't see you.  But Mulder had a perfect view of Krycek and soon he sat up again, his lips twitching for a long moment with no sound resulting from the movement.  Finally he spoke, soft but harsh, "There is the matter of my arm." 
</p>
<p>	Fuck.  Guilt flooded him each time he even looked at the plastic prosthesis; thank God there wasn't just empty space there.  Thank God he was on Krycek's right side, where he didn't have to feel the fakeness of it against his own flesh.  He didn't even believe in God, though, and he couldn't think of a suitable retort.  Everything sounded brittle.  "You didn't have to jump out of the truck."  There was that damned crack in his voice again; he hoped Krycek wouldn't notice. 
</p>
<p>	But Krycek didn't exactly sound impassive himself.  "You didn't have to kidnap me."  He paused and when he continued, his voice sounded broken, as if he was as close to tears as a man with Krycek's training in self control could get.  "We just have to get out before someone FINDS us."  Eyes on the still simmering wreckage of Mulder's cellphone, he said nothing more, and Mulder couldn't think of a word to say in his defense; his own voice might shatter if he tried. 
</p>
<p>	A long, lonely silence ensued, and Mulder took the opportunity to stare at the slightly younger man again when he thought that Krycek wasn't looking.  He did look different.  Dark, wavy locks fell over his forehead, almost obscuring his eyes.  "You lost the stupid-ass haircut, at least," Mulder observed in hopes of easing the tension that was palpable in the air. 
</p>
<p>	"Yeah, well, not much time to visit the salon," Krycek countered with a hint of sarcasm, and the balance was restored.  But he went on conducting his study of Krycek; there were dark smudges under his eyes.  True, they hadn't slept much during the past few days, but hectic as they had been—it wasn't enough to warrant this.  It drew Mulder's attention back to Krycek's eyes themselves. 
</p>
<p>	Feeling ridiculous, he heard himself asking, in a hushed tone, "What color are your eyes?" 
</p>
<p>	From the expression on Krycek's face as he blinked at Mulder, the other man was as bewildered as he was.  His brow crinkled endearingly.  "Green," he murmured, gazing searchingly at Mulder, "they're green.  You can't tell?" 
</p>
<p>	Mulder was tempted to mention the darkness that was beginning to pervade the warehouse through its scant windows and the impending sunset, but then he'd have to explain why he hadn't noticed during the daylight.  "No," he admitted, "I'm colorblind.  Didn't <i>you</i> know that?" 
</p>
<p>	Shrugging noncommittally, Krycek muttered, "I didn't have to know everything about you, Mulder.  Such a thing as too much information.  I doubt you'd realize that, though." 
</p>
<p>	No, Mulder thought, because he wanted to know everything about Krycek, and he wasn't entirely sure why.  He told himself that it was the simple curiosity of a psychologist who'd met an intriguing new prospect, and then he asked himself why he had applied that particular adjective to Krycek.  Intriguing.. prospect?  Fuck. 
</p>
<p>	"What happened to you?" he queried, finally verbalizing the question that had been on his mind ever since Krycek had shown up on his doorstep, dirty and haggard. 
</p>
<p>	A pause and Krycek's eyes closed, lashes fluttering against his cheeks as he leaned back to rest his head against the wall.  They were long lashes, Mulder thought absurdly as he waited for the younger man to elaborate on whatever it was that he'd been doing for the past few months.  And then almost cursed out loud when it occurred to him that his thoughts were running along a vein that he'd been steadfastly suppressing for years.  It was the close quarters, he decided, combined with the infuriatingly captivating charm that Krycek always seemed to wear like a glove.  Or maybe it was a coat— maybe he was hiding something.  It was always difficult to be certain about anything when you dealt with Krycek. 
</p>
<p>	Presently sound was echoing through the warehouse; Krycek's voice, presumably, so Mulder listened and tuned his idle thoughts out.  "I haven't exactly been blessed with luck recently, Mulder.  And <i>they</i> don't consider me to be one of their favorites by any stretch of the imagination."  Krycek had been unusually articulate during their cooperative efforts, and it left Mulder reevaluating his initial assumption of Krycek's education.  A crude manner of speech didn't necessarily indicate a crudeness in all aspects of life.  "Smoking bastard wanted me to kill a child," Krycek hissed suddenly, unexpectedly.  "I almost.. I couldn't.  That was the end of it for me.  They didn't even bother to kill me—it's not like I know anything useful.  Just made sure that I didn't have a real identity, couldn't buy anything useful, couldn't find a job, a place to stay.. cash.."  He stopped and grinned helplessly.  "It allowed me plenty of time to plot their exposure." 
</p>
<p>	It dawned on Mulder that he couldn't quite quell the tide of sympathy that had risen up inside him at Krycek's words.  "It wasn't," he offered, "a bad plan.  The execution of it, however, left much to be desired in terms of.." 
</p>
<p>	"You?"  Krycek was snickering. 
</p>
<p>	They shared a smile.  "Indeed." 
</p>
<p>	The countenance of the other man waxed solemn.  "If we ever get out of here, Mulder, I want you to know—I have proof that I didn't kill your father.  Of who did." 
</p>
<p>	Eyes narrowed, Mulder darted a furtive glance at Krycek.  "Why didn't you show it to me before?" 
</p>
<p>	He snorted and said, simply, "Like you'd have even looked at it, Mulder.  Get real." 
</p>
<p>	"True."  And his gaze wandered over to the door. 
</p>
<p>	"Oh, no," Krycek interjected, "no way on this earth am I waiting for Scully.  Not gonna happen." 
</p>
<p>	Mulder's grin only widened.  "Better think of something else fast.  She always manages to figure out where I've gone when I ditch her, and once she finds the hotel room registered under my name, well, it's only a matter of time.."  He shut up as he realized that the hotel room must have seemed like paradise to the man in the faded jeans and torn jacket, regretting that he'd insisted Krycek sleep on the floor.  He could've gotten a double. 
</p>
<p>	"I can't believe you wrote the address down.  Fuck, Mulder, you have an eidetic memory."  Exasperated, but amused. 
</p>
<p>	"I know, but just in case we died, someone would know where.." 
</p>
<p>	"Scully."  Krycek was bobbing his head, something like a nod, and he gave Mulder a knowing look before his attention shifted rapidly.  "I still wanna leave before she knows I'm alive, so get cracking." 
</p>
<p>	Mulder's eyes rolled heavenward and then he discovered the massive hook that extended from the ceiling.  "Hey, you think—" 
</p>
<p>	"Fat chance," Krycek told him after following the path his gaze had taken.  He scrutinized the slimy floor.  "You think that stuff will ever evaporate?" 
</p>
<p>	"Doubt it," Mulder responded in a lazy tone, shifting to inspect the floor himself.  "What color's the ooze?" 
</p>
<p>	"Emerald, I'd say."  Mulder glared good-naturedly and they fell into an easy silence this time.  He felt a good deal more comfortable, but it wasn't that his awareness of the other man had faded; on the contrary, he could feel the warmth of Krycek's body pressed against him, the roughness of a denim-clad leg against the thin pinstripe of his pants.  Their shoulders brushed every time he moved.  The intensity, the vibrancy of Krycek's being tugged at him.  There was no polish to the man now; he almost fancied that he'd been stripped down until nothing but the truth was left.  He was so real, so gritty, so... so idiotic for Mulder to consider.  He forced himself to ponder, rather wistfully in fact, the samples that they'd been so close to obtaining when that stupid motherfucker had interrupted.  Not very adept for a Consortium assassin, really— Krycek had killed him in under ten seconds—but the damage had already been done, the precious container that he'd been gingerly retrieving on the ground in a flurry of movement, the slime swooshing over it as he and Krycek dove for safety. 
</p>
<p>	Out of boredom, Krycek was swinging his legs back and forth in a peculiar rhythm.  Running his eyes over the width of the room and then turning back, Mulder found his gaze lingering on Krycek's bare feet.  They were pale, in contrast to the faint bronze that covered the rest of him.  Long and graceful, with surprisingly delicate toes, and they were quite possibly the only part of him that wasn't riddled with scars.  Krycek noticed what Mulder was looking at and increased the rhythm, wiggling his toes teasingly.  "Feels like I'm on a swing," Krycek said in a near whisper, and Mulder could feel the other man's eyes on him as he leaned forward to rest his head in his hands, still watching as he extended his own bare feet and swiveled them to and fro. 
</p>
<p>	It was almost a contest now, to see who could swing higher without risking a tumble off of the shelf, and inevitably their feet grazed each other.  Once, he counted, following the line of his leg up and then down again, and then twice, but he'd stopped moving and Krycek was curling his toe around Mulder's, if such a thing was even possible.  He guessed not, as it evidently didn't work.  But when skin connected, bare skin—Krycek's bare skin, specifically—it was an incredibly sensual thing.  And it tickled, but he didn't much care because he was too busy relishing the sensation of Krycek's fingers as they crept along to encircle his shoulders. A slight dip of the head and he was brushing noses with the younger man, leaning in so that he could finally plunder that delectable mouth, perhaps conquer the aggravatingly fuckable body... 
</p>
<p>	"Mulder!"  Concern was apparent in the shout of that familiar voice, and it made him want to scream.  Un-fucking-believable.  Couldn't she at least have waited another hour or so?  Krycek was already drawing back, his arm resting at his side, hands clasped together with a calm equanimity only belied by the short string of curses that escaped his lips.  Scully was shoving the door open and then hopping away with a high-pitched shriek as she was confronted by the "emerald" ooze.  "What the hell are you doing, Mul—"  She stopped dead in her tracks, staring at him.  He could have sworn that her mouth actually dropped open. 
</p>
<p>	Scully looked just as she should, suit and trenchcoat, scarlet tresses in slight disarray after an obviously harried search to discover his whereabouts that had probably taken the whole two days, gun firmly in hand.  He wondered why she was so shocked; not because of Krycek, surely.  He'd left that little tidbit in the note on the dresser, along with the address of the warehouse.  A bit confused, he glanced down at himself and then at Krycek and realization struck him.  They were barefoot, his jacket was missing—now disintegrated, he noted—and Krycek was almost sitting on his lap, even closer than they'd been when they first vaulted onto the ledge to escape the ooze.  His shirt collar was unbuttoned, cheeks flushed from the heat, and reaching up to run a hand through his hair, he found that it was indeed disheveled.  
</p>
<p>	Krycek looked just as bad—no, suspicious, since he looked anything but bad—with his smoldering eyes, the tattered remains of his shirt—ripped during the brief battle with the assassin—and the sweat that was dripping off of him liberally.  Funny, he hadn't even thought to complain about the temperature during his initial litany of horror.  Even funnier that Scully could see all of these things from twenty feet away, things that could be easily explained by their current circumstances, and come to the conclusion that there was something between them.  But she had; Mulder could see it in the way her lips pursed, the manner in which her hand tightened marginally on the gun it held.  From the tone of her voice, her eyebrows had shot up to the ceiling.  She certainly seemed to have a sixth sense when it came to Mulder, and Mulder had never been the one to discount the existence of sixth senses. 
</p>
<p>	She had already recovered herself admirably when Mulder shrugged and remarked, innocently, "We're stuck.  It's caustic."  Talk about stating the obvious. 
</p>
<p>	"I know," she said drily, and he definitely wasn't imagining the edge of coldness to her voice.  He'd have to reassure her later, no doubt.  "I'll get you out of there as soon as possible.  It'll just be a few.." She disappeared around the door and Mulder could hear her barking instructions to whatever army of agents she'd brought with her.  From the number of responses, it was only two.  Thank God.  He loved his partner to death, but sometimes she went quite a ways overboard with her rescues, if only to give herself more reason to guilt-trip him afterwards. 
</p>
<p>	Realizing that they only had a minute or two left, Mulder leaned back and deliberately caressed the length of Krycek's cheekbone.  The other man shuddered.  "Execution by way of Scully," he whispered, rueful. 
</p>
<p>	"No," Mulder disagreed quietly, "a diversion and a gleefully escaping Krycek, if you can run with bare feet.  You know where we parked the car."  He smiled beatifically. 
</p>
<p>	"Oh," came the hesitant reply, and then, "Is this—" 
</p>
<p>	Mulder cut in, "If you want to pursue this collaboration, you do know—" moving closer, "when I'm home," breath puffing against Krycek's face, "and we can always repeat this."  His lips met Krycek's, feathery light, the heady rush of desire overtaking his sense of propriety for a moment before he pulled away.  Just in time, he took it, as the massive door swung all the way open and Scully started yelling again.  She must have decided how to extricate them.  "I've got a bed," he added bluntly. 
</p>
<p>	"Don't expect me," murmured Krycek, but he was grinning.  "I want to surprise you, Mulder."  His eyes flashed with something soft and bright and delighted, and Mulder imagined for a fleeting moment that he knew how green looked.  It was all there in the depths of his eyes. 
</p>
<p>	"Don't bother trying," he answered, beaming quickly before he plastered his oh-how-I-wish-I-was-somewhere-else look back on for Scully's benefit, "you always do anyway." 

</p>
<p>	The end.
</p>
<hr/>
<p>
  <a id="notes" name="notes"></a>
</p>
<table>
  <tbody>
    <tr>
      <td> Date: January 2000
<br/>Fandom: X-Files
<br/>Contact: [email removed], feedback direly needed.
<br/>Spoilers: general Krycek, ending at Tunguska/Terma
<br/>Rating: PG13—swearing, m/m interaction (no sex)
<br/>Class: Fluffish, I guess.  A bit of humor, a bit of angst. 	       What bit of plot there is doesn't have a complete              explanation, but then, a lengthy discourse on the              Consortium and how evil it is was not in my job              description when I wrote this.	
<br/>Pairing: Mulder/Krycek slash
<br/>Keywords: Mulder Krycek slash
<br/>Summary: Acidic ooze, a slightly less hostile than usual Mulder              and a gloriously blue-jeaned Krycek, shoes lost              forever.. how could it not result in romance!?
<br/>Disclaimer: X-Files not mine.  Making no money.  Go away.
<br/>Notes: Takes place soon after Terma, but not too soon. 
</td>
    </tr>
  </tbody>
</table>
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